


The Asshole and the Angel

by Jesshikur



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bottom Clear, Lemon, M/M, Shameless Smut, Slash, Top Noiz, WIP, Yaoi, drunk, teashop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesshikur/pseuds/Jesshikur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a sudden confrontation with Clear, Noiz begins to realize that the white-haired boy causes him to feel things he hasn't felt in years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Asshole and the Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babeRuthless](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babeRuthless/gifts).



> alright guys...this is my first work. Hopefully it's not terrible. I'm still really unfamiliar on how to  
> 1\. make relevant tags  
> 2\. create a decent summary  
> 3\. end a chapter properly  
> feel free to criticize, leave comments, and all that shit. I enjoy editing my work.  
> I plan on this being long and having several, several chapters so if you're interested, subscribe! I'd love to have you along with this experience.  
> ALSO, no smut yet, sorrryyyyy

Everyday has been the same ever since I started seeing him here. I knew coming to this teashop to “study” (as I told my parents) was a bad idea, even if it did promise me free wifi, the only thing that consistently saved me from my ever-constant boredom. At first, seeing the white-haired, red-eyed, cheery boy wasn't so much of a bother. He came in a coupe times a week at first, always alone, and after about twenty minutes he would have magically managed to strike up a conversation with every damn customer in this damn store.

To be completely honest, his presence wouldn't have bothered me that much if it wasn't for the face that the boy would never fail to stare at me for at least ten full minutes, making my skin crawl with anxiety, causing my feet to tap with impatience. The worst part of it all? He's never once tried talking to me. I am the only person who has ever come in here not to make conversation with that albino freak. Why should it bother me? It's not like I want him to talk to me...in face, I'm glad he hasn't. I've heard the small talk he makes with other people, the way “please” and “thank you” roll off of his tongue, dripping through the ears of his unsuspecting victim. His manners drive me up the wall...they make me sick.  
I wouldn't be surprised if he told me that I'm the only person he's come into contact with that he hasn't made “light chitchat”, as he calls it, with. 

It doesn't bother me that he doesn't talk to me...I get ignored by people all the time. The consistent flow of stares, dirty looks, and scoffs I receive while walking in public doesn't sting anymore. I guess you could say that I'm just fed up with the fact that this guy, this weirdo, stands out more than I do yet no one stares at him funny. In fact, he even has the audacity to look at me...so repulsed. No one's making him stare, in fact, he didn't even have to be here if he was so disgusted by my appearance.

Assholes like him always think they're obligated to everything; better customer service, friendlier human interaction, and more pleasant experiences in life than people like me. People like me... who stick out, who manipulate their face, modify their bodies.  
It's not even that I want to be “different” or “edgy”. You know what it is? I'm so goddamn bored. I thought maybe piercings would make me _feel_ something. Everything's so numb. Static on the tv, that's what I compare it to. That “tsssssss” sound on your screen when your entire connection fails. The feedback on a phone call...that same “tsssss”.  
I thought maybe piercing my skin with sharp needles would make that constant numbing static turn into something, even if it was pain. I wanted to _feel_ something. He can't judge me for that.

  **Someone who wears a gas mask in public can not judge me for that**.

The strangest part of it all? I pinpointed the source of my annoyance. And to my surprise it isn't towards him...but inexplicably towards myself. It's infuriating how this guy can just waltz in here and make me feel bad about myself just by staring at me, by never talking to me. I'm perplexed by the fact that my heart sinks an inch whenever he jollily skips through the entryway and then, once he notices me, immediately stops in his tracks and scurries to his usual two-chaired table. The most idiotic part of it all is that I actually let it get to me...so much that once I attempted dressing differently for a day. Well, I didn't let myself believe that it was because of him but the hurt caused by his reaction was something I still can't put into words. I, in a weak moment of caring what this guy, this asshole, thinks, put on a fucking suit. I put on a suit, removed my piercings, skipped out on the beanie, and actually took a shower (not in that order).

 Why did he stare at me twice as long? Why did he, under all the circumstances, never once look away? Why did his face scrunch up with ten times more disgust than usual? I, defeated by my failed and pathetic attempt to impress (as much as it pains me to admit) this albino motherfucker, didn't even stick around to observe him converse with the other customers, our “fellow teasippers” as the employees fancy calling them.

Of course, I don't normally watch him. “Didn't even” makes it sound like I, on an ordinary day, do, but I assure you, and myself, that's not what I do.

Okay, on an ordinary day, I will admit I steal a few glances, I do forget that I'm staring sometimes, but I promise it's not anything that should be considered a compliment. I see an attractive piece of ass and I stare, fucking sue me.

 Lately, my parents have been coming down on me harder than they normally do. Thank the messiah they work or I think I'd have died twice by now. In other words, it's been a while since I've gotten any. Regardless, you can't blame me for taking interest in guys that subconsciously draw attention to themselves. People tend to be attracted to people that are like them, that they share characteristics with. The combination of pent up sexual frustration, fairly attractive guys, and lots of anger/annoyance/slight intimidation (which I can't explain) and it's really not my fault that I occasionally allow my mind to wander about what that guy's hiding under that idiotic yellow scarf and white lab coat of his. What faces will he make if I were to roll the cold metal of my pierced tongue down his pale chest and stomach, over the hills and valleys of his peks and abs. What would his moans and grunts sound like as they reverberate on my ear, or better yet...

       “Excuse me?” chimes a honeysuckle voice.

 I curse under my breath and immediately apply pressure to the area of my pants that have suddenly gotten so constricting. I'm greeted by red, no, pink eyes. Flooded with memories of my childhood rabbit, I find it hard to look away until I notice his eyes quietly drifting to the hand that's pressing against my throbbing crotch. Feeling myself flush hot with embarrassment I spit out,

       “Eyes up here, buddy.” Definitely sounded a bit more defensive than I meant for it to...I breathe out sharply and close my eyes, attempting to regain composure.

  _Noiz. If you want to take this guy home then you've got to be more “friendly” or whatever._

After a couple seconds I open one eye, again struck stiff (in more places then one) by the pale eyes that burn into my own. I quickly turn away and grumble with pursed lips,

       “Can I help you?”

       “How come you always have your laptop but never use it?”

 The question seems mocking but his voice remains genuine. It's hard to tell what he means but I don't bother asking in fear of looking like an idiot.

        “How come you always come here yet do nothing but stare at me the entire time?” My retort is bitter even if I meant it to be playful, something that seems to happen more often than I like yet I never really try to fix.

        “Oh, Clear's sorry! It's just that-”

        “Clear? Who's Clear?” I interrupt, instantly confused as to who/what this guy's talking about. My mind runs though the mental list of names I keep, people who are angry with me, it's hard to keep track, honestly.

        “That's me! I'm Clear! That's my name!” He jabs his thumb into his sternum as if “me” and “my” wouldn't be enough. The peppy tone in his voice is the complete opposite of mine and it causes me to laugh.

  _How can this guy be so proud of such a stupid name?_

        “Clear? That's your name?” I can't help but hold my stomach as I lean back in my chair hysterically laughing. I almost feel bad because the look on his face is priceless.

 He cocks his head to one side slightly, furrowed brows searching my face for answers as to why I'm laughing so hard.

        “I don't know why that's funny but I'm glad my name makes you so happy! Oh! I have an idea! You should tell me your name! I'm sure it's just as great as mine, probably even better!”

 I don't know what shut me up first...the fact that this guy truly doesn't understand that I'm laughing at him or the fact that now, after laughing at him, I have to tell him that my name is Noiz. Who will really look like the idiot then?

 I look away in embarrassment, something this guy has made me do three times now. I can't tell him my name...not after making fun of him like that, even if he didn't really catch on.

        “I'm sorry! Clear shouldn't ask questions like that! You don't have to tell me!”

  _Damn this guy..._

How can someone take the blame for something so stupid and then apologize for it? His innocence is adorable...I've give him that. Oh how I'd love to see him do nasty things to me

 I gulp once.

        “Noiz. My name's Noiz.” His face immediately lights up and he quickly puts his hand up to his mouth, but not before allowing one small scoff escape his curled lips.

 I instinctively stand up, pushing the table and chair away from my body and curling my hands into pulsing fists by my side.

        “What's so funny? Got a problem with my name?”

  _I don't care how cute this guy is, I'll fucking fight him if he thinks he can get away with laughing at my name._

The hypocrisy is at a hilarious level.

        “Nothing is funny, Noiz-kun! I'm happy because I was right! Your name is much better than mine!” He nearly bounces up and down from how excited he is. I'm baffled.

 With a heavy sigh I slowly level myself, sitting back into the chair and scooting in obnoxiously loud.

        “I don't fucking get you...” I mutter, almost drowning my voice with the scooting of my chair, readjusting myself so that I'm comfortably taking up the other two chairs with my leg.

 My heart continues to race but the ever familiar pump of adrenaline yet I can't help but be soothed by the echo his words leave in my mind

_Your name is much better than mine!_

 I've had people say they like my name, but it's always ironically. Clear seems genuine...why? Why does he like my name? Trick question, I know he doesn't, so then how is he so good at faking it?

I have to break my train of though because I feel the heat rising from my neck to my cheeks and I don't want to blush in front of Clear more than I already have today.

        “May Clear sit with Noiz-kun?”

        “Sorry, it looks like my legs got here first.”

 He looks at the chairs, very occupied by my legs, like I said and a sad look overcomes his eyes.

        “I'm kidding...yeah, no one else is sitting here so whatever.”

 His eyes brighten and he smiles at me. His teeth show, matching the whiteness of his hair. The contrast between his eyes, skin, and hair give off the illusion that he's glowing. I decide to just look at the floor instead, scared that I'll begin staring again.

 It's silent for a bit after he sits. He's just staring at me. I don't allow myself to look at him directly but I can see that his head hasn't moved through the corners of my eyes. After a couple minutes I can't take it anymore.

        “C-Can you stop?” I make sure to be firm, but I stutter, making me sound panicked, and I flush...again.

        “Stop what, Noiz-kun?” He, again, cocks his head to the side, like a dog, his rose colored eyes blinking with pure ignorance.

        “You know, staring at me...it's making me anxious.” I shock myself by the sudden confession of my feelings, something I hadn't even really admitted to myself.

  _Me? Anxious?_

 I shake my head in disappointment to myself.

        “Does Noiz-kun not like being looked at?” I turn away, giving him his answer.

        “Why not? I like looking at you!”

 He flashes me that genuine smile of his, one that I rarely ever get from people because of the aura I give off. It startles me and causes me to quickly attempt to avert my eyes to something else...something less mesmerizing.

        “No, I just think that it's obnoxious.” My voice is low, as if I'm afraid someone else will hear me talking to him so openly.

 His face is clean, free of piercings and tattoos, but there's something strange about him. He's so proportionate, so perfectly symmetrical, it's hard to put my finger exactly on what it is that's so alien about him even if he is clearly human.

        “But, Noiz-kun stares at me and even though I get embarrassed I don't say anything.”The way he says everything is so sing-song that I can see myself easily getting annoyed if I hung around him for too long.

 I smirk at the thought of him struggling to talk through a ball gag. How his incredibly pink lips would look framed around my length. Without thinking, I, again, place a hand over my zipper, restraining my pants from bulging upwards.

        “Is Noiz-kun okay? He looks a little rd. Noiz-kun doesn't have a fever does he?” The panic in his voice was painfully obvious.

 His caring tone is convincing enough that I have to remind myself that people don't care for others so quickly...especially when it comes to me. It's a nice enough idea that someone would actually be concerned for my wellbeing that I take a couple seconds to revel in the fantasy. He makes me do something I never do. I think about my parents.

_How would I be if they actually treated me like a normal child...whatever that means._

 I imagine what it would be like...to have a mother that wrapped her hands around her child's back rather than around their neck. To grow up with a father that beat me at video games and sports rather than bloody and senseless until I repressed the memories so much even he couldn't remember them. To spend time in a room filled with colors, toys, dreams, and promises rather than darkness, fear, loneliness, and stabbing words. I continue on until I feel my eyes sting slightly. I quickly pretend to yawn, a trick I've formulated over the years. I continue to feel his gaze on me, watching my every move.

  _Why is he still staring at me?_

To be honest, I can't even recall what we were talking about.

        “Stop staring, I'm fine.” I sigh, exhausted from the effort of this conversation.

       “You ask too many questions.” I'm not used to this. But I guess I would be overwhelmed by anything that requires effort since I'm so used to putting in absolutely none. I've never participated in something so exasperating.

        “Clear is just worried for Noiz-kun!” My eyes widen, completely taken aback by the bluntness of his statement.

  _He's lying to you._

How sad is it that those are the first words I think of? The echo of my parents painted and carved onto every inch of every crevice of my brain. The constant reassurance that no one will ever love me, no one will ever be kind to me, kindness is a lie, compassion is a joke.

 I exhale sharply and droop my head so it makes contact with the palms of my hands.

_Why is he saying these things? What does he want? Why can't I ever just have a normal human interaction?_

        “Noiz-kun....? Seriously, are you okay?”

        “I'm fine!” I stand up abruptly, panicked.

  _Why are my eyes watering?_

_Fuck. Fuck. I can feel my eyes filling up. I have to leave before they spill over. Why now > I haven't cried in years. What's with this guy? _

 And so, just like I've done with everything else in my life, I ran. That was it. I just left. Of course I heard clear shout my name frantically as I walked out, as quickly as possible without looking crazy.

  _What's wrong with me? I can't go back there._

 As I think about the idiotic boy's pink eyes, filled with kindness, his smile coated with sympathy, I feel my heart swell, pressing against my ribs as if for the first time in years it has finally felt something, confused as to what to do about these sudden emotions, the bloody bird in my chest yearns to become free once more.

 His eyes, his smile, the two faint moles under his lips.

        “ _Why would anyone ever be nice to you, Noiz?”_

 That's all it takes to make me crumble. I bite my tongue until I taste the thick copper liquid and continue until I reach my house, still empty.

 If I'm going to cry, it's going to be when no one is around, when no one can remember, not even me.

 I reach for the liquor cabinet, no shot glass necessary, and begin quickly drowning the handle of whiskey.

  _Now even I won't remember the sorrow._

 As I begin to get tunnel vision, as I begin to feel myself blacking out, the feeling being all too familiar, I curse under my breath...

 I had forgotten my laptop.

 


End file.
